Harry Potter: Out of the Night
by pillowSrGudFuktois
Summary: Between 5th and 6th years, Harry is ready to take his life into his own hands. He's making decisions that will change the course of the war, and he's determined to learn the truth about Dark magic. Independent!Harry eventually Dark!Harry, no pairing yet.
1. Chapter One

_**OUT OF THE NIGHT**_

 **Information:** Out of the Night was a Harry Potter fan fiction written by Raining Ink. This fic has been officially abandoned by its author. Obviously, Raining Ink claims no right to characters, settings, concepts, etc… recognizable as belonging to J.K. Rowling or anyone else even vaguely connected with the Harry Potter franchise. However, many other aspects of the story are original to this fic. Fellow fan fiction authors who wish to make use of these concepts/world building/story details/etc… are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from the use of said ideas. Fan fiction authors wishing to write a continuation of the story are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from said continuation. Basically, don't use anything that might belong to Raining Ink to make yourself money, mmmkay?

 _ **Credit:**_ All credit goes to Raining Ink for about 30 chapters or so, I will be making some minor changes until I reach _my_ chapters.

 **Disclaimer:** not anything that JK Rowling thought up in books 1-7 (or Warner Bros. for the movies) is mine. The rest of it is, but I will admit to being influenced by the large amounts of fan fiction I have read. If you think I have stolen something from another story, let me know. Plagiarizing is NOT my intention.

 **Chapter One – A Uncles Proposal**

 **The strained atmosphere in Vernon Dursley's new company car would have been unbearable to Harry if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts. Vernon's knuckles were bloodless on the steering wheel as he drove through traffic on the way to Privet Drive from King's Cross Station, and Petunia's lips were pressed into a tight line. Harry, leaning against the door of the large backseat, noticed none of this. Even if he had, he would have felt none of the dread that had plagued him during previous summers at the thought of his Uncle's anger. Harry Potter was the subject of a prophecy. Away from the eager eyes and expectations of his fellow students, he was finally starting to realize what that meant. The wizards of the world, from the lowliest squib to the great Albus Dumbledore himself, were counting on Harry to save them from the rising darkness.**

 **Harry still could not quite wrap his head around the idea, and his emotions could not seem to keep up with the shocks that they had had to endure in the past few weeks. Umbridge, the prophecy, the battle with the Death Eaters, Sirius… He had the strongest sense that he was standing at the ultimate fork in his life's road, and that the decisions he would make over the coming days could change everything. He was glad, he realized with some surprise, to be going back to the Dursleys' house. He felt odd, breakable and powerful at the same time somehow, and he needed time away from the pressures of the wizarding world to figure out for himself what he should do with everything he had learned over the past year. For the first summer of his life, Harry really wanted to be alone.**

 **He knew that this desire for solitude would have surprised his friends, but they had no way of knowing just how much he was dealing with. He did not plan to tell them anytime soon either, even though Dumbledore had not told him to keep the information about the prophecy to himself.** _ **Dumbledore.**_ **Harry frowned. Most of his affection and loyalty for his headmaster had been destroyed with the revelation of the prophecy. He had always looked up to the man, but the fact that he had kept such important secrets from Harry about his own life showed that the elderly wizard clearly had no respect for him. Moreover, for his part, Harry could not respect someone who apparently saw him either as a child to be protected for his own well-being (which Dumbledore claimed was the case) or as a tool to be manipulated for the greater well (which Harry suspected was closer to the truth).**

 **Harry Potter's life was about to get even more complicated than it had been in years past, and no matter what the adults in his life might want him to do, he would** **not** **stand idly by and let someone else make his decisions for him.**

 **The car pulled into the driveway of Number 4, and Harry became aware of his relatives for the first time since they had left the train station. Petunia hurried toward the house without saying another word. Harry watched her scurry inside and saw Dudley's beefy face peering through the kitchen window. He heard the car's boot pop open, and he grabbed Hedwig's empty cage from the seat beside him. He had freed the owl before getting into the car; she would be able to stretch her wings and hunt on the flight back to Privet Drive.**

 **"Boy," said Vernon. "I need to have a talk with you."**

 **Harry yanked the trunk the rest of the way out of the boot, then turned to stare at his Uncle. For Vernon, that statement had been almost polite. After the threats the Order members had made, Harry was expecting a lot more malice. Making sure he was standing just out of arms' reach, he replied cautiously, "Okay. About what?"**

 **Vernon was looking at him in a most peculiar way. He didn't look angry, he looked …scared and …maybe a little sick? Harry shifted his weight nervously. Vernon looked at Harry for a few seconds more, and then he looked quickly around to make sure that none of the neighbours was within listening distance. "It's not right, boy," he said then. "None of it. You…your kind…What right do those freaks have to go around threatening honest, decent, hard-working folk like us?"**

 **Harry had to exert his self-control in order not to snort at Vernon's description of himself as "decent," but he was honestly surprised. Vernon was not shouting. This was his business voice, his I've-made-an-important-decision voice that was usually reserved for declaring what chores Harry was to be given for the day. "Err …" Harry started, not sure, whether his uncle's question required a response.**

 **"NONE!" shouted Vernon, seemingly agitated by Harry's uncertainty. "That's what, Boy. They do not have any right to tell me how to run my own house. They don't have any business bossing me around, feeling all high-and-mighty because of their freakishness."**

 **Harry stared at his Uncle, trying to decide how to handle him. Vernon seemed to be waiting for him to comment on the rant, agree with him maybe. Harry just wanted to get upstairs to the smallest room and sleep away his anxieties. He nodded his head a couple of times, hoping that would be sufficient.**

 **Vernon took a step towards him, his moustache puffing and his jowls quivering with some kind of suppressed emotion. Harry stepped back towards the boot, eyeing his uncle warily. When the man spoke, his voice was calm again but filled with absolute conviction. "I** **hate** **you, Boy," he said. "I wish you were dead. Your kind does not deserve to plague the rest of us with your existence. However, you are here, nevertheless. Been here almost fifteen years now, and I hate you a little more every day."**

 **Harry's chest felt oddly tight. He did not know why Vernon's words should hurt after all this time, but they did. Petunia was watching through the window now with Dudley. His only family …and they could say, quite matter-of-factly, that they would rather he be dead than standing here in their clean, orderly driveway.**

 **"I know you hate us too, Boy," said Vernon. In addition, Harry did. For the first time, he acknowledged that the only thing he felt toward the Dursley's was unalloyed** **hatred** **.** **It was strange, he thought, to realize that. Vernon's next few sentences drowned in light of this recognition. When had he stopped wanting-in some secret part of his heart-their acceptance, their approval, their love? Harry did not think he felt this level of loathing toward anyone else… well, maybe Bellatrix Lestrange.**

 **Vernon's words swam back to the surface, and Harry focused on his face. "So, Boy," he was saying, "Why don't you leave?"**

 **"What?" Harry blinked at him. Leave? Where else would he go?**

 **Vernon took another step toward him, and this time Harry did not back away. "We hate you. You hate us. You are not a baby anymore, and if you were, I would dump you at an orphanage no matter what that old crackpot freak demanded. Petunia says we cannot throw you out, says you being here protects us as well. I say," he leaned down until he was nose to nose with his nephew, "that's bullshit. I think you are dangerous, and that is why they chuck you back to us every summer. I am not going to throw you out, Boy, because Pet and the freaks will not let me. However, an** **arrangement** **we have is a two-way street, isn't it?** **Why** **don't you just leave?"**

 **All of the breath in his lungs seemed to have been vacuumed out. Harry stared into the empty space just past Vernon's right ear. What about Voldemort, the Death Eaters, his Order guards? What about his mother's sacrifice and the blood wards around the house? Vernon was wrong. They would all be in danger if the wards fell, and they would fall if he were gone. Harry could not just leave. Could he?**

 **He looked to the faces of Dudley and Petunia in the kitchen window and back into his Uncle's watery eyes. He would be putting them all in danger. Nevertheless, they hated each other. He would be putting himself in danger. However, not much more than he was in at any other time. The Order would be furious. He looked around at the sunny, perfectly square houses of Privet Drive. Mrs. Number 9 was watering her begonias…not a care in the world.**

 **"Can I stay here three or four more days?" Harry asked. His voice was surprisingly steady. He could not quite believe that he was doing this. "It will take me that long to get everything ready."**

 **Vernon's face split into a terrifyingly huge grin, and he slapped Harry on the back so hard that the thin teen stumbled forward a couple of steps. "Boy," he boomed cheerfully. "Of course you can! You have made the right decision, you know. Better for everyone."**

 **Harry looked on in shock as Vernon stooped to pick up his trunk. "Let's get this upstairs. Three days, you said. Four at the most?"**

 **"Right," said Harry, as he followed a very merry Vernon Dursley into the house.**

 **"Capital!" shouted Vernon. Considering how fat he was, he was practically skipping up the stairs. "If you leave by then, Boy," he said as he heaved Harry's trunk into his room, "I'll give you a fifty-pound note to see you on your way."**

 **Vernon thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Harry heard him crow to Aunt Petunia, "The boy will be gone by Thursday, Petunia love. Thursday! By Friday, I daresay we won't even remember he was here."**


	2. Chapter Two

_**OUT OF THE NIGHT**_

 **Information:** Out of the Night was a Harry Potter fan fiction written by Raining Ink. This fic has been officially abandoned by its author. Obviously, Raining Ink claims no right to characters, settings, concepts, etc… recognizable as belonging to J.K. Rowling or anyone else even vaguely connected with the Harry Potter franchise. However, many other aspects of the story are original to this fic. Fellow fan fiction authors who wish to make use of these concepts/world building/story details/etc… are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from the use of said ideas. Fan fiction authors wishing to write a continuation of the story are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from said continuation. Basically, don't use anything that might belong to Raining Ink to make yourself money, mmmkay?

 _ **Credit:**_ All credit goes to Raining Ink for about 30 chapters or so, I will be making some minor changes until I reach _my_ chapters.

 **Disclaimer:** not anything that JK Rowling thought up in books 1-7 (or Warner Bros. for the movies) is mine. The rest of it is, but I will admit to being influenced by the large amounts of fan fiction I have read. If you think I have stolen something from another story, let me know. Plagiarizing is NOT my intention.

 **Chapter Two – Getting Things Together**

 **Later that evening, Harry sat on the edge of his rickety bed, staring out the window. He had put out some food and water for Hedwig, but he did not really expect the owl to return for at least a couple of days. He had told her to take her time in hopes that Vernon's anger over the King's Cross incident would have abated before she made an appearance. How was he to know that he would be on such good terms with his uncle this summer? Hedwig would be back in time to take his letter to the Order.**

 **It had been such a strange afternoon. He had agreed to leave the Dursleys, and he felt an increasing sense of relief as the hours passed. It might not be the best decision, but at least he was doing something. A few sheets of parchment lay on the bed next to him, a list of everything he needed to do over the next few days if he wanted to be successful in eluding the Order and surviving on his own for the rest of the summer. He really did not think four days would be nearly enough time to plan his escape, but Harry thought Vernon might combust if he suggested that he would like to stay for a little longer. His uncle was still in high spirits. He had spent the afternoon rummaging around in the basement, working on old exercise equipment that would be moved into the smallest bedroom "the very moment" Harry left.**

 **This would be so much easier, Harry thought, if he just knew of a place to go. He could not go to Grimmauld Place or The Leaky Cauldron. They were too obvious, and he had no clue whether the Order was still using Sirius's old house for headquarters or not. He had even considered the Shrieking Shack, but that was too close to Dumbledore for Harry's liking. Harry knew he would need to stay in the wizarding world. As nice as it might be, he was too vulnerable in the muggle world. Besides, he fully intended to use the unhindered weeks of summer to practice his spellwork, and the only way to do that without being detected by the Ministry's underage sensors was to stay in a highly magical area such as Diagon Alley. However, how would he hide in busy, bright, wizard-filled Diagon Alley? It would be crawling with Order members as soon as they realized that he had disappeared, and Harry did not know any glamour charms.**

 **Sighing, Harry flicked off the lamp beside his bed. It was early, but he was exhausted. Tonight, he would sleep. Everything could be figured out in the morning when he was less muzzy-headed.**

 **Harry woke late on Monday morning feeling lighter than he had in a long while. It was summer, he had weeks to figure out what to do about the prophecy, and he was leaving Privet Drive forever in a matter of days. For breakfast, he ate the last of the cauldron cakes he had saved from the Hogwarts Express, and then he sat down with his pages of parchment and a ballpoint pen to plan his escape.**

 **Leaving the Dursleys' house without being spotted by whoever was on guard duty for the Order should not be too difficult. He had his invisibility cloak, and it was a slim chance that Mad-Eye would be the one assigned to babysit him on the day in question. Even if he was, thought Harry, what did it matter? The Order's goal was to keep Death Eaters away from the house, not to keep Harry cooped up inside. After all, they were not expecting him to run off. As long as he did not look like he was leaving for good, they would just assume he was going for a walk around Little Whinging or running an errand for Petunia.**

 **But where would Harry go once he left? When the answer came to him, he almost couldn't believe that it had come from his own head. It seemed so reckless, so stupid, but the Order would never guess. They would never think to look for their Savior there. He couldn't stay in Diagon Alley because they would expect it, but…what about Knockturn Alley? He shuddered at his last memory of the place. Everyone sinister and heavily cloaked even in summer. Hags with platters of human fingernails and other, more questionable products.**

 **It was an awful idea, Harry was sure. Certainly, the Order would be unlikely to find him, but it would be much worse if the kind of people who frequented Knockturn became aware of his presence. On the other hand, he would be able to practice magic all summer. There was no way that the Ministry could keep track of his wandwork in the midst of so much dark wizardry. And, Harry thought uneasily, Knockturn Alley was sure to be full of books on dark magic. Wouldn't it be a good idea for him to at least know what kind of spells his enemies might be using against him?**

 **Harry had been wondering about this in the back of his mind since Umbridge's shambles of a defence class started. The Ministry defined dark magic didn't they? Alternatively, was it just purely evil in its own right? If the Ministry had anything to do with saying what was or was not dark, then Harry thought he should at least look into it for himself. He did not even know** _ **what**_ **dark magic was, except for heavy curses like the Unforgivables, and there was no way for him to get that information at Hogwarts or in Diagon Alley. He couldn't even imagine the horror on the faces of Hermione or any of the Weasleys if he asked about it.**

 **Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, he wrote on his to-do list: "Look for an inn in Knockturn Alley" and "Learn how to do a glamour charm."**

 **An hour later, Harry looked his list up and down and sighed. He needed to go to Diagon Alley this afternoon if he wanted to make this work. None of his old school books had glamour charms in them. From what he could tell, they were borderline illegal, and only a simple, easily penetrable version was taught to NEWT charms students. He would need to learn a much more impressive glamour charm in the next couple of days if he wanted to hide in Knockturn Alley. He also needed a new wardrobe, since his Hogwarts robes would stick out like a sore thumb. Wearing muggle clothes around the alley would be suicidal. Harry looked at his watch. It was just past noon. He could make it to Diagon Alley and be back home by late tonight if he left now.**

 **Twenty minutes later, a nervous Aunt Petunia opened the front door on the pretext of stepping out to check on her roses, and Harry slipped silently past her in his invisibility cloak, whispering a quiet "thanks" to her as he left. Under the cloak, he wore an old ball cap of Dudley's to cover his scar and a tatty canvas backpack that he had last used in primary school. To be safe, he walked eight blocks before he removed his invisibility cloak and another five blocks before he stuck out his wand arm to summon the Knight Bus.**

 **With a fantastic BANG, the triple-decker appeared by the curb, and Harry was on his way to Diagon Alley.**

 **Diagon Alley was crowded. Harry had planned on taking off his cloak once he arrived, but after seeing the number of his schoolmates that were packing the streets in an apparent state of post-Hogwarts bliss, he decided against it. It was strange. For every group of rowdy children and teens he saw, there seemed to be a group of subdued adults talking in hushed whispers. As he slipped by these huddles, he caught snatches of conversation.**

 **"Back…he's back…not letting the children out after dark…did you hear?…Harry Potter…the Ministry… can't believe!….Savior….Chosen One…."**

 **Harry's skin crawled every time he heard the reverence in the voices when they said that last one. The Chosen One. He felt sick at the thought. Why did they expect so much from him? He was fifteen! They were adult wizards. It was absurd to think that they were all counting on him, when he had not even finished school yet.**

 **By the time he managed to weave his way to Gringott's, he had a splitting headache. He groaned as he heard his name yet again. This time from a girl holding onto her mother's, hand as they approached Gringott's. She looked about eleven years old. "And, mum," she was saying, "he's simply the best seeker at school. I wish I were in Gryffindor. He seems really nice."**

 **"Of course, darling," her mother muttered absently as she tugged her daughter through the doors.**

 **"Why do you think he never answered my letters?" she asked. Harry noted that the girl looked pouty. "I've sent him at least a half dozen. I wanted to ask him, but what if he was offended."**

 **"Honestly, Rebecca," Harry heard the mother say. "I doubt he answers any of his fan mail. He must get buckets of owls you know…"**

 **What was that about? Harry shook his head in bemusement. Fan mail? Him? Well, it did make sense he supposed. He had gotten a lot of letters in response to that Quibbler article. Harry frowned. Wait a minute… Why hadn't he ever received fan post except when an article had been written about him in the paper? Not that he would** _ **like**_ **to be swamped with owls, but surely, people decided to send the "Boy-Who-Lived" owls on occasion. Rebecca obviously had. It was yet another thing that needed to be looked into. He suspected Dumbledore's involvement. After all, it would have been very inconvenient if owls had dropped off magical post at the Dursley house when he was a child. Harry growled in annoyance, startling a passing shopper who looked around in fright for the source of the sound. Dumbledore had no business micromanaging his life to that level. At fifteen, he should certainly have access to his own mail.**

 **Harry walked up to the doors of Gringotts and stopped next to one of the goblin guards. He had a feeling that goblins would not take kindly to an invisible person walking into their bank, but there was always a chance that Bill Weasley might be present in the lobby. That would not do at all. "Errrmm… Hello," Harry said to the goblin without removing his cloak.**

 **The goblin jumped a bit, but in a matter of seconds, he had regained his previous surly demeanor. "What do you want?" he asked the apparently empty air in front of him. The goblin on the other side of the double doors was staring at his fellow guard in confusion.**

 **"Well," Harry whispered, "I need to go to the bank, but if I'm seen by anyone it's likely to cause quite a commotion. Is there any way that I can do my banking without removing my invisibility cloak?"**

 **The goblin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "That depends. Who are you?"**

 **Harry shrugged underneath the cloak. What did it matter if the goblin knew? "Harry Potter."**

 **The goblin's eyes widened a bit, and then he nodded. "Hold out your hand," he demanded.**

 **Harry stuck a few fingers of his left hand out from under the cloak. The goblin leaned close to the hand, as though he were going to examine Harry's fingerprints, then without any warning whatsoever, the guard bit Harry's index finger. Harry yelped and pulled his hand back under the cloak, fumbling for his wand.**

 **"Stop squawking!" snapped the goblin. "I had to make sure you were Harry Potter, didn't I?"**

 **"You bit me!" Harry managed to control the volume of his voice, but it was more than a little shrill. Were goblin bites poisonous?**

 **The goblin turned his nose up. "Well I'll admit, there are fancier ways of determining your identity, Mr. Potter; but beggars can't be choosers."**

 **The goblin pulled a small glass cube out of his vest pocket and spoke into it. "I have an invisible high-profile client at the front door."**

 **The glass cube glowed briefly white and another goblin voice replied. "Acknowledged, Greblak. A cart operator will be with the client shortly."**

 **"Oh," said Harry. He wrapped his bloody finger up in the side of his t-shirt. "Thanks, Greblak."**

 **"Gringotts prides itself on its security, Mr. Potter," the goblin boasted. "All door guardians are trained in client identification."**

 **"Err…right," said Harry, whose finger was beginning to throb.**

 **Greblak grinned in Harry's direction, showing every one of his pointed teeth. "You'd taste lovely with a nice cabernet."**

 **Before he could decide to be affronted by this statement, a harried looking goblin that Harry recognized as Griphook walked up. "Who is it Greblak?" he asked.**

 **"Harry Potter."**

 **Griphook nodded, and made a beckoning motion with his hand. "Follow me, Mr. Potter. I assume you wish to make a withdrawal?"**

 **Harry entered Gringotts marble entry hall after the goblin. He nodded before he realized that Griphook could not see him. "Yes, please Griphook," he said.**

 **The goblin led him to the carts that conveyed Gringotts customers to their vaults, and Harry wondered about the question. He was really only here to make a withdrawal, but what other services did the bank offer?**

 **"Is there a brochure or something that would tell me about bank services?" asked Harry as they climbed into a cart. Now that they were out of sight of the other clientele, he had removed his cloak.**

 **Griphook looked annoyed at the prospect of having a conversation, but he answered, "Gringotts services have not changed in the past three hundred and forty-eight years. There is no need for a brochure, Mr. Potter."**

 **"Oh," said Harry. The cart was already zipping around the track's hairpin curves. "Well," he said testily, "I haven't been around for that long. Do you think you could fill me in?"**

 **Harry wasn't sure whether the grinding noises he heard came from the cart or from Griphook's teeth. "Gringotts deals with every aspect of wizarding wealth," he said. "This includes but is not limited to: savings accounts, trust funds, Old Family vaults, stock options, inheritance verification, special items protection, currency exchange, and blood records."**

 **The young wizard pondered this list as they stopped at his vault. Griphook opened the door, and he began to load a sack with galleons. "What if I wanted to know how much money I had?" he asked.**

 **"The Potter accounts are worth approximately 25,000 galleons," said Griphook. Seeing Harry open his mouth to ask another question, he added, "That's about 90,000 British pounds."**

 **Harry smiled. It was more than he had thought it would be. He would not be able to buy anything he wanted, but he could live comfortably for the next couple of summers without having to find work somewhere. Another question occurred to him, "Okay, so what about blood records? What does that mean?"**

 **"It goes along with inheritance verification. Utilizing samples of a wizard's blood, we are able to determine their heritage up to sixteen generations back. We maintain records of these heritages."**

 **"Why?"**

 **Griphook rolled his eyes. "Pureblood families trust our records more than those that are available at the Ministry. They occasionally come to us before finalizing marriage contracts."**

 **"Oh," said Harry. "What if I wanted to…"**

 **"Mr. Potter," Griphook cried in frustration. "Please make your withdrawal and get back in the cart!"**

 **Harry was miffed. "Alright, but how do you expect me to know these things?"**

 **"The only service we offer that might be of interest to you would, in fact, be inheritance verification. I am only a cart operator. If you wish to have a heritage test performed I will set up an appointment for you, and arrange for an owl to notify you of the date and time."**

 **Harry thought about it. What harm could it do? The Potters were an old wizarding family, he might learn something interesting. "Thanks, Griphook," he said as he climbed into the cart. "I'd appreciate that."**

 **Harry spent the rest of his day in Diagon Alley in a seedy little second-hand shop. It wasn't his first choice of shopping venue, but it was the least crowded store in the alley. The shop was so crammed full of junk that customers had to weave their way through the stacks, sometimes even climbing over furniture and trunks to get to other parts of the store. It was almost impossible to be recognized in a place like this. He only had one narrow escape when Colin Creevey walked into the store to look at a display of used cameras. Harry had to hide in a musty coat rack for fifteen minutes while Colin browsed.**

 **Eventually, Harry picked out a set of plain black robes and a hooded cloak and spent the rest of his shopping time going through a bin of old books in the back of the store. He finally found a battered copy of** _ **Charms for Charmers**_ **, which had a great selection of appearance-altering and glamour charms for people who wanted to "woo that special someone."**

 **Before he went to check out, Harry decided to try out some of the charms just to make sure the old woman at the cash register would not recognize his face. He stood in the most cramped, abandoned corner of the store behind a broken grandfather clock, facing a cracked wall-mounted mirror. Half an hour later, feeling extremely self-conscious, Harry emerged. His hair had been lengthened about six inches so that it hung over his forehead and around his face in a wild mess. His nose was more aquiline, and his signature green eyes were a muddy brown. Harry had tried to change the shape of his face as well, but he could not seem to get the hang of it. The shop lady checked him out without commenting, so Harry decided it would not draw too much attention to ask a few questions.**

 **"I'm looking for an inn to stay at," he said. "Do you know of a place around here?"**

 **The old woman blinked pale blue eyes and bared all three of her teeth at him. "Cauldron's right down the end of the street," she wheezed. "Only place in Diagon for a bed and a cuppa."**

 **Harry shoved his purchases into his backpack. "I had a falling out with the owner," he lied. "I'm not welcome there anymore, so I'm looking for another inn."**

 **The crone glared knowingly at him. "Two inns in Knockturn," she said after a moment. "There's the Magna, that's a place for posh sorts. Bad sorts…but posh. Don't imagine they'd let you sweep the stoop." She laughed. "Only other inn's the Doxy Closet. Far end of Knockturn Alley. Cheap. Not too dirty. Still…probably not what you're looking for."**

 **"It sounds fine," said Harry. Why did the old woman seem so amused? "Can I get directions?"**

 **"You go down Knockturn Alley, kid," she said, still chortling. "Keep walking 'til you get almost to the end, and turn right down Daemon Lane. It has a board with a doxy on it out front. You can't miss it."**


	3. Chapter Three

_**OUT OF THE NIGHT**_

 **Information:** Out of the Night was a Harry Potter fan fiction written by Raining Ink. This fic has been officially abandoned by its author. Obviously, Raining Ink claims no right to characters, settings, concepts, etc… recognizable as belonging to J.K. Rowling or anyone else even vaguely connected with the Harry Potter franchise. However, many other aspects of the story are original to this fic. Fellow fan fiction authors who wish to make use of these concepts/world building/story details/etc… are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from the use of said ideas. Fan fiction authors wishing to write a continuation of the story are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from said continuation. Basically, don't use anything that might belong to Raining Ink to make yourself money, mmmkay?

 _ **Credit:**_ All credit goes to Raining Ink for about 30 chapters or so, I will be making some minor changes until I reach _my_ chapters.

 **Disclaimer:** not anything that JK Rowling thought up in books 1-7 (or Warner Bros. for the movies) is mine. The rest of it is, but I will admit to being influenced by the large amounts of fan fiction I have read. If you think I have stolen something from another story, let me know. Plagiarizing is NOT my intention.

 **Chapter Three – Endings and Begginings**

 **Harry did not try to find the Doxy Closet that day. He went back to Privet Drive, pleased but exhausted, and fell into bed. He spent all day Tuesday studying** **Charms for Charmers** **. He couldn't cast the spells, but he memorized the words and the wand movements for everything that looked useful. Harry suspected that the spells in the book were not exactly ethical, but he thought they were all the more intriguing for it. He didn't plan to woo anyone anytime soon, but he could imagine a variety of other uses for the charms. In addition to basic glamour charms, the book contained minor compulsion spells ("to get your sweetheart on the right track") and attraction charms ("effortless popularity and desirability"). He even found a spell to "give your eyes a lovely twinkle" that he felt sure Dumbledore used from time to time.**

 **An owl arrived from Gringotts late that afternoon, and Harry gladly took a break from his studying to read the letter it carried.**

 **Mr. Potter,**

 **The Gringotts Office of Inheritance and Blood Records has accepted your request for a heritage test. Please be advised that heritage evaluations are always conducted after standard business hours in order to ensure the utmost privacy for our clients. The enclosed portkey will activate at 9:00 PM tomorrow night. It will take you to your vault, where bank representatives will meet you to perform the test. At the conclusion of the examination, you will receive a certified copy of your blood record. The cost of this service is 350 galleons.**

 **At Your Service,**

 **Snagtooth**

 **Chief Inheritance Officer**

 **Harry was surprised. He had almost forgotten that he had asked Griphook to schedule him an appointment with the Inheritance Office, and he really had not anticipated that the service would be so pricey. He did not expect to learn anything terribly valuable from it, and it seemed like a lot of money to pay just to satisfy his curiosity about his family. Then again, using the service would probably be worth it just for the access to the portkey. Harry hummed happily at the thought. He wouldn't have to sneak into Diagon Alley this time or bother with the Knight Bus. The goblins would port him directly to Gringotts. As long as he had everything ready to go by tomorrow night, he could leave Privet Drive once and for all without much fuss at 9:00 PM. There was no need to worry about the Order tracking him either. He highly doubted that the paranoid goblins would have sent him a portkey that could be traced back to the depths of their bank.**

 **Harry smiled at the thought. Tomorrow night, he would be freer than he had ever been before.**

 **It took Harry two hours the next morning to pack everything he would need to take with him. Hedwig returned before noon, and he sent off a brief but unsuspicious letter to the Order. With any luck, it would take at least a few days for the wards around the house to fall completely. Harry, feeling charitable, had warned Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon that this would happen, but he did not think the Dursleys would take his advice and move to another location. Hopefully, by the time the Order of the Phoenix realized Harry had left, the trail would be three days cold, the wards would be on the verge of failing, and any chance of returning Harry Potter to 4 Privet Drive for his own good would be long gone.**

 **It seemed like 9 o'clock would never come. When Vernon arrived home at six, he stomped up the stairs to Harry's room and knocked on the door. "Soon boy?" he asked hopefully.**

 **"I'll be gone in exactly three hours," said Harry.**

 **Vernon's expression was blissful. "I never want to see you again, boy," he said pleasantly. "Mind you don't come back asking for handouts or anything like that."**

 **Harry smiled bitterly. "Don't worry," he said shortly. "I never want to see you again either."**

 **"That's the spirit, boy! Excellent! Strike out on your own, and don't look back." He shoved a meaty fist into his pocket and pulled out fifty pounds. "I would say I wish you the best, but I don't," he said as he forced it into Harry's hand.**

 **"Right," said Harry. It was the last time he ever spoke to Vernon. Petunia did not even bother to come upstairs. At precisely 9 o'clock, Harry felt a sharp jerk behind his navel. He, his trunk, and all his worldly possessions vanished from Privet Drive. When the Dursleys walked upstairs and peered cautiously into the room at 9:15, there was no sign that Harry Potter had ever been there.**

 **Vernon leaned down to kiss his wife. When they broke apart, Petunia spoke. "Take out the bedding and the desk. We'll burn them."**

 **Goblins, thought Harry, did not like questions. He was met in his vault (which had been outfitted with comfortable chairs and a table for the occasion) by two goblins in pale blue lab coats who had demanded that he remove his robes and shirt at once in order to "prepare for the procedure." Harry thought it was perfectly natural to want to know everything he could about a test that required him to stand around in nothing but his pants. The goblins, Knacklebrat and Cursentog, seemed to disagree.**

 **"Really, Mr. Potter!" one of them shouted as he waved a sharp metal instrument around. "You are the one who requested the evaluation. Please allow us to get on with it!"**

 **"I only want to know what you're going to do," Harry said pleadingly. "Just tell me the basics before you start poking me with those things."**

 **"We are not going to poke you, Mr. Potter," said the other goblin. "Heritage testing is based on blood and magic. We will be cutting you to draw blood at several key points in the spinal and abdominal regions to ensure the most accurate reading."**

 **"Then what?"**

 **The goblin holding the metal tool seemed to be getting frenzied. The other one sighed. "Then we will conduct the test on the blood samples using a variety of highly guarded spells and potions. At the conclusion of the test, if any significant heritages are discovered, we will show you how to go about claiming them."**

 **"Claiming them?"**

 **"It's not about money or anything of that nature, Mr. Potter. Some wizarding family lines must be…properly acknowledged…if an heir wishes to gain the benefits of blood and magic offered by association with that family. Now please take a seat so we may begin."**

 **After it was over, Harry reflected that it was not so bad. It was weird to be standing in the middle of a pile of gold while goblins carefully cut lines into his flesh and caught the blood in little silver bowls, but it could have been worse. It hurt a little, but they healed each cut carefully after they had finished and forced Harry to sit back down and drink a cup of pumpkin juice while he waited for the results.**

 **"We've got one," said Cursentog after nearly an hour of studying the blood.**

 **"Really?" asked Knacklebrat, his eyes widening. "Which family?"**

 **"Peverell."**

 **"Ah," said Knacklebrat, "That's not going to do him much good. Is there anything else?"**

 **"No, just the expected. It is a bit purer than I anticipated. His mother must have had some magic in the bloodline."**

 **Harry had been nearly dozing in the comfortable wingback chair the goblins had provided, but now he was wide-awake. "What do you mean?" he asked.**

 **Cursentog began packing up his equipment as Knacklebrat turned to Harry. "It means that if you wanted to do so you could claim membership into the Peverell family. However, I doubt that you would want to."**

 **"I've never heard of them," said Harry.**

 **"They were fairly well-to-do until the last heir died in the mid-18th century. There are some quite charming fairytales associated with them. Gringotts does not maintain a Peverell vault, but we do have a standard heritage acceptance potion and a signet ring in storage for any claimants."**

 **"So, I'm related to them…the Peverells? What would happen if I took the potion?"**

 **Knacklebrat stroked his pointy chin as he considered the question. "Heritages are tricky things," he said. "No wizard reacts in an entirely predictable way to accepting one. Normally, it is nothing very special…an increase in some minor talents, maybe even a sudden interest in a field of study that was previously uninteresting. The Peverells, for example, were noted for their exceptional night vision. That's the sort of attribute that would normally bleed over. It's quite a strong relation too," he said as he looked over the parchment Cursentog had handed him, "so you would likely get a little more out of it than most. But, it's a moot point for you, Mr. Potter."**

 **"Why?"**

 **"Because, Mr. Potter, the Peverell family was traditionally a Dark family. The heritage would be a Dark heritage."**

 **Harry's mind seemed to go into overdrive. Dark. His heritage, if he accepted it, would be Dark. What did that mean? People were not born Dark wizards were they? Wasn't it a matter of choice? Obviously, the goblins expected him to refuse the inheritance because of it, so there must be more to it than that.**

 **"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I don't understand. What do you mean the heritage is Dark? What would happen to me if I accepted it?"**

 **Knacklebrat's look was calculating. "I don't know exactly," he admitted after several seconds of contemplation. "Most non-Dark wizards wouldn't accept a Dark heritage. The combination might be rather volatile."**

 **"Dark wizards aren't like other wizards, Mr. Potter," Cursentog said as he looked up from the bowls he was cleaning. "I don't mean that horseshit that the Ministry spouts off about good and evil and all that rot. I mean at the most basic level. They've got a fundamentally different understanding about how wizards ought to interact with magic."**

 **Knacklebrat nodded in agreement. "Dark wizardry is steeped in traditions that have been left behind by most wizards in these times. Families pass down these customs. They train their children to use their magic in a certain way, until eventually children born into those families are much more inclined to perceive magic in a uniquely Dark manner."**

 **This was fascinating. Harry had never learned any of this before, and he had a feeling that the goblins were being more honest about the differences between the two types of wizards than anyone else ever would be. "So people are…born Dark?" he asked.**

 **The goblins seemed to confer silently with one another for awhile. "To an extent," said Knacklebrat eventually. "It would be very difficult for someone from a truly Dark family to turn away from that heritage, very unnatural for them. However, one does not** **have** **to be born into one of the families in order to be Dark. A person can choose to follow the traditions and the way of magic on their own. It's just…uncommon."**

 **Cursentog grunted. "More like unheard of," he said.**

 **"So I could accept the heritage and still choose for myself couldn't I?" Harry asked.**

 **"Why would you want to risk a magical imbalance like that, Mr. Potter?" asked Knacklebrat. "The Potter heritage is extremely anti-Dark. The two magics, the two bloods…they would never mesh properly."**

 **"It might work," said Cursentog, a fierce gleam in his eyes.**

 **"It would be far too dangerous for us to recommend…"**

 **"Come now, Knacklebrat, you know you're just as curious as I am. Ideally, you would develop a sort of double persona, Mr. Potter. You might be able to shift between the two heritages at will, retaining your same mind and soul but developing an understanding for both types of magic."**

 **"The duality would never last," Knacklebrat argued. "He would eventually develop a strong leaning toward one type of magic. One can't straddle that particular fence for very long."**

 **"Yes, of course," said the other. "But, he might be able to maintain the weaker heritage as a kind of veneer to cover the stronger one if he needed to. Just think of the possibilities!"**

 **Harry's head was spinning as he watched the two of them argue. A "double persona" they said. He was definitely no Dark wizard, but he was curious. He would have the opportunity to learn more about the division between Dark and Light. Moreover,…some rebellious part of Harry wanted to do the thing that he knew would horrify everyone he cared about. He knew it was dangerous, but he wanted it anyway. Taking the heritage would not** **make** **him Dark, after all. The goblins seemed to be saying that it would be more like a tendency, and Harry figured that he already had a tendency. Being mentally connected to Voldemort surely qualified, so how could this hurt more than that?**

 **Even disregarding the issue of Dark and Light, the Peverell heritage was something that was already a part of him, just waiting to be awoken. It was his, and the thought of leaving something about himself locked deep within him disturbed him. He looked up to the two goblins who were now babbling in Gobbledegook. Well, he thought, Gryffindor's were known for spur of the moment decision making. "I want to do it," he said firmly.**

 **The goblins stopped arguing and turned to look at him. "I want to claim the heritage."**


	4. Chapter Four

_**OUT OF THE NIGHT**_

 **Information:** Out of the Night was a Harry Potter fan fiction written by Raining Ink. This fic has been officially abandoned by its author. Obviously, Raining Ink claims no right to characters, settings, concepts, etc… recognizable as belonging to J.K. Rowling or anyone else even vaguely connected with the Harry Potter franchise. However, many other aspects of the story are original to this fic. Fellow fan fiction authors who wish to make use of these concepts/world building/story details/etc… are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from the use of said ideas. Fan fiction authors wishing to write a continuation of the story are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from said continuation. Basically, don't use anything that might belong to Raining Ink to make yourself money, mmmkay?

 _ **Credit:**_ All credit goes to Raining Ink for about 30 chapters or so, I will be making some minor changes until I reach _my_ chapters.

 **Disclaimer:** not anything that JK Rowling thought up in books 1-7 (or Warner Bros. for the movies) is mine. The rest of it is, but I will admit to being influenced by the large amounts of fan fiction I have read. If you think I have stolen something from another story, let me know. Plagiarizing is NOT my intention.

 **Chapter Four – Mr. Peverell Would Like a Room**

 **In short order, Harry was kneeling in the middle of a circular marble rune inlaid into the floor of Ritual Room 1, deep in the bowels of Gringotts. The acceptance potion, which looked like water to Harry, was in a crystal goblet on the floor in front of him. A parchment with a written version of the Peverell family acknowledgment lay beside it. At the goblins' instruction, Harry drank the potion and recited the acknowledgment:**

 **I, Harry James Potter, claim the heritage of the Peverell family. I accept the heritage in blood, in memory, and in magic. I will take the name Peverell as one of my own, never to bring it shame. I am of the Peverell line, and this is my right.**

 **Harry felt warm all over, as though he had suddenly been immersed in a hot bath. Something unidentifiable was sweeping through him, altering him in small ways; and although he thought this should frighten him, he felt good. Alert and peaceful at the same time. After a couple of minutes, the bathtub sensation faded, and Harry stood up.**

 **"Well," said Cursentog in satisfaction. "It didn't kill him."**

 **They gave him a small box, which they said held the Peverell family signet ring and a stack of papers, which were the certified copies of his blood records. "Don't put the ring on until tomorrow night," advised Knacklebrat. "It would be bad form. It usually takes twenty-four hours for the potion to do everything it is going to do, so you won't be a full Peverell until then. Should any other claimants to the line show up…"**

 **"That's not likely," Cursentog interrupted.**

 **"But if they do," said Knacklebrat, "You'll be expected to donate your blood for the creation of another heritage acceptance potion. You will remain the main Peverell heir with whatever that might entail, but other heirs will still be able to share in the family name and magics if they choose."**

 **"Alright," said Harry. He began to gather his things together. "Is there anything else I should know?"**

 **"Not really. As I said, the heritage will be in full force by this time tomorrow night, but it is already active now. If you** _ **have**_ **achieved a split heritage, you should be able to make some changes in your appearance or casting just by shifting your mental perception of yourself."**

 **"What?"**

 **"If you feel more like you're a Potter, then that heritage will come to the forefront. If you feel more like a Peverell, then that one will. The differences between the two will be slight. It's really quite simple."**

 **Cursentog cleared his throat. "Who should I list you as for record keeping purposes?" Seeing Harry's blank look, he clarified, "Your name. Traditionally, you would call yourself Harry James Peverell Potter, but given the unprecedented nature of your situation, choosing a separate name for the Peverell family would be advisable. What would you like to call yourself?"**

 **"Greek or Roman names and their derivatives would be best, Mr. Potter," added Knacklebrat. "Those are the most common in pureblood circles."**

 **"Ummm…" Harry muttered. A new name? Well, he would have to have one anyway to live in Knockturn Alley. Maybe he should just stick with the same initials? What was a pureblood name that didn't sound completely ridiculous? "Hephaestus," he said at last, wincing at the thought of calling himself that, "I'll be Hephaestus Peverell."**

 **Harry was surprised to find that Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were very different places at night. Hooded and cloaked, he left Gringotts at 11:30 PM and stepped out into a mostly empty street. Very few lights shone in the windows of Diagon Alley, and those that did were mostly those of small flats above some of the shops. The glow from the Leaky Cauldron seemed a vague, weak thing in the distance. The alley looked grimy and bereft without the usual press of bodies.**

 **When he arrived at Knockturn Alley, he thought for a moment that he had turned down the wrong road. He had not been expecting anything like this. Twice as many witches and wizards roamed the street as the last time he had been here in second year. Most of the stores appeared to be open and doing a good business. The smell of food wafted from vendors' stands, making Harry realize that he hadn't eaten since lunch at the Dursleys, which seemed like a lifetime ago. Eerie music floated on the night breeze out of a pub about a hundred meters away, and the reedy voice of an elderly man could be heard crying, "Poisonous toadstools. All varieties. Half-off tonight!"**

 **Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at his face, and whispered, "** _ **Inmemorse,**_ **" a spell that** _ **Charms for Charmers**_ **had called an "unmemorable charm." It worked sort of like a notice-me-not spell. The book had recommended it for covering up pimples or scars, but Harry could tell by the burning tingle he felt all over his face that it worked over larger areas as well. Unlike the notice-me-not spell, this one did not prevent others from becoming aware of his presence. Instead, it altered their perception of his face, causing his features to slip from memory almost as soon as a person registered them. Someone who looked at him would see that he was Harry Potter, but they wouldn't be able to hold onto the idea for even a second at a time.**

 **He had not planned to use this spell tonight. He thought it might be Dark magic, and he was a little uncomfortable with the idea of fiddling with other peoples' memories; but with the crowded, well-lit street in front of him, he did not see much choice. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk down Knockturn Alley.**

 **He had gone only a few yards before a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to see three rough-looking men dressed head to toe in dark grey robes. His heart seemed to pause in his chest. He could barely make out their faces under their low hoods, but he couldn't mistake the sinister feeling that seemed to be a part of their very presence. One of the men held the chain of some sort of creature that looked like a hairless wolf with red eyes.**

 **"You're in the wrong place, kid," rumbled the one who had grabbed his shoulder. "Your kind isn't welcome here at night."**

 **The wolf-like creature was growling low in its throat, and Harry could not help but notice the long strands of saliva hanging from its yellow fangs. Harry swallowed out of habit. His mouth was completely dry. A couple of hard-eyed hags had stopped to watch the confrontation. Harry didn't know how to handle this. At least they didn't seem to recognize him. How would the type of person who would be welcomed in Knockturn Alley deal with this?**

 **The image of Professor Snape sneering down at him popped into his mind. Knowing that he would hate himself for this later, Harry drew himself up to his full height (wishing as he did so that he was not one of the shortest boys in his year) and said in a cold, controlled voice, "I beg your pardon? Just what** _ **kind**_ **do you think I am?"**

 **The man didn't seem to be put off by Harry's show of confidence. One of his companions hissed through his teeth and whispered, "…probably a Ministry spy, Rukus. Best to do him in quick like."**

 **Harry glared at the man in perfect imitation of the look that Snape always reserved for him during the start of term feast. "What a clever observation!" he jeered. "Do the idiots at the Ministry regularly send people my age to infiltrate Knockturn Alley after dark, or do you think I'm a special case?"**

 **The one called Rukus leaned back on his heels, studying Harry. "We keep track of who comes and goes in the alley at night. It is our job to determine whether unfamiliar people might be…unwanted. Who are you, and what business do you have here?"**

 **"My name," said Harry with an arrogance he did not feel, "is Hephaestus Peverell. My business is, frankly, none of your business. I am on my way to the Doxy Closet for the evening."**

 **The one holding the wolf-thing's chain snickered at this, and Rukus raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little young for that?" he asked.**

 **This question was confusing. "I'm older than I look," Harry said, "and I'm certainly old enough to rent a room if I want."**

 **"I suppose so," said Rukus. "Fine, kid. You go on then, but the rest of the watch will be on the lookout for you, so don't try anything."**

 **With that, the three men were gone, and the small group of people who had stopped to watch dispersed. Harry had to take several deep breaths before he walked on. The farther he walked the more surreal Knockturn Alley seemed to become. It was every bit as exotic and new as Diagon Alley had been when he was eleven. Most of the stores were open, and yellow light spilled out into the street. It was quieter than Diagon Alley was in the daytime, but there was still a steady murmur of voices around him. The window displays did not have the cheerfulness of those he had seen at stores like Flourish and Blotts, but many of them were beautiful in their own ways. Poisoned candles burned with flames in every colour of the rainbow. Ruby and citrine hued fairies fluttered prettily in small glass boxes, and vials of every potion imaginable sparkled in torchlight. An entire herd of real miniature horses ran in circles in one windowsill. And even the things that weren't pretty were…well, interesting at least. Hanks of human hair "plucked by the root" dangled from the apothecary's window, a set of charmed rune knives traced intricate patterns in a pit of sand, and fist-sized blobs of molten wax seemed to be** _ **breathing**_ **in the front display of Rosemary's Reagents.**

 **When Harry turned down Daemon Lane, he spotted the Doxy Closet immediately. It was a tall, narrow building that had been painted pitch black, and a large signboard with a crudely drawn picture of a doxy was propped against the front wall. The most remarkable feature of the building, however, was the colour of the windows. Harry stared. They were large, there were many of them, and they were all a very feminine shade of pink. The light coming through these windows from the inside stained the stores on either side of it, and the street in front of it, a delicate rose.**

 **Harry felt his face heat up as he realized something else about his destination for the night. The Doxy Closet was obviously a whorehouse. Suddenly, the comments of the Knockturn watch made sense. Raucous laughter and playful screams sounded from inside, and a couple of scantily-robed witches called to passerby. Harry only considered turning back for a moment before he realized that he had nowhere else to go.**

 **The inside of the Doxy Closet was, thankfully, much more tasteful than the outside, and if Harry ignored what was going on in the dark corners of the common area, he could almost imagine that it was nothing more than an inn. A cheerful fire was burning in the grate, spelled not to give off any heat during the summer, and several wizards (a couple of them actually looked like vampires) were sitting around a long table and drinking from heavy mugs. Harry was just looking for someone to ask about a room, when a heavily made-up woman in revealing green satin robes swept up to him. Her eyes smouldered as she laid a hand on his arm. "What can I do for you, love?"**

 **Harry felt his blush return full force. "I just…err, that is to say…I need a room for the night," he stuttered.**

 **"Sure thing, honey," she replied with a dazzling smile. "Come with me."**

 **"Just a room, though," Harry blurted out. "I don't want…anything else." He wondered if he could actually blush hard enough to break through the** _ **inmemores**_ **charm.**

 **The woman laughed. "I knew what you meant, love. About half our business is just the inn, though most folk know to come for that during the daytime. It gets sort of loud at night."**

 **Harry did not trust himself to speak, so he followed her in silence to a tall cabinet behind the bar. She opened it to reveal a number of room keys pegged to a board. "You'll want one of the more remote rooms, I guess?" she asked. "There's not so much coming and going up on the attic level, so you can have a nice sleep."**

 **"That sounds fine Ms…"**

 **"Aren't you sweet!" she squealed then patted him on the cheek. "It's just Cora, honey. No need for the miss bit." She handed him a key. "Room 413. All the way up the stairs, then right. It's five galleons a night, and if you're up by six you can have a nice breakfast with us down here."**

 **Harry thanked her and paid for the night, then headed upstairs to his room. Room 413 was small, and the ceiling sloped with the roofline. It was only basically furnished with a twin-sized bed, a chest of drawers, a side table and a lamp. The windows, thankfully, were not pink from the inside. Harry enlarged his trunk and slid it into place at the foot of the bed. He cast a standard locking charm on the door, making a mental note to learn stronger spells soon, then stripped out of his clothes.**

 **After showering in the tiny bathroom and putting on a too-big Westham tee shirt that Dean had given him as a Christmas gift last year, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. It was cramped, dusty, and loud. However, it was more than he had ever had to himself at Privet Drive, and he could use as much magic as he wanted to in order to make it more liveable. He would look up how to perform a silencing ward and a few cleaning spells tomorrow. Most importantly, Harry realized, no one here expected anything of him. He could come and go as he pleased, and nobody would care. He could be Hephaestus Peverell, a teenager without a destiny hanging over his head, all summer. Smiling, he lay back and pulled the sheets up over himself.**

 **It was the best sleep he had had in a long time.**


	5. Chapter Five

_**OUT OF THE NIGHT**_

 **Information:** Out of the Night was a Harry Potter fan fiction written by Raining Ink. This fic has been officially abandoned by its author. Obviously, Raining Ink claims no right to characters, settings, concepts, etc… recognizable as belonging to J.K. Rowling or anyone else even vaguely connected with the Harry Potter franchise. However, many other aspects of the story are original to this fic. Fellow fan fiction authors who wish to make use of these concepts/world building/story details/etc… are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from the use of said ideas. Fan fiction authors wishing to write a continuation of the story are welcome to do so, provided that they DO NOT in any way profit financially from said continuation. Basically, don't use anything that might belong to Raining Ink to make yourself money, mmmkay?

 _ **Credit:**_ All credit goes to Raining Ink for about 30 chapters or so, I will be making some minor changes until I reach _my_ chapters.

 **Disclaimer:** not anything that JK Rowling thought up in books 1-7 (or Warner Bros. for the movies) is mine. The rest of it is, but I will admit to being influenced by the large amounts of fan fiction I have read. If you think I have stolen something from another story, let me know. Plagiarizing is NOT my intention.

 **Chapter Five - In The Doxy Closet**

 **Harry would have gladly slept through his first day of freedom if he hadn't been awakened by a knock on his door just before six o'clock in the morning. Groaning as he rolled out of bed, he threw the robes he had worn yesterday on over his nightshirt and grabbed his wand from the nightstand. He opened the door half way through an impatient second knocking, and was momentarily disoriented to see a petite blonde girl wearing a wispy purple something that looked to him like a belly dancer's outfit with a cape. She could not have been more than a few years older than Harry. And he couldn't help but notice, even in his sleep-deprived state, that the girl resembled Fleur Delacour…just with more risqué clothing than the French witch would ever wear.**

 **"Like what you see?" asked the girl, raising an eyebrow.**

 **"It's really early," Harry said stupidly. He could already feel a blush coming on.**

 **The girl giggled. "Cora's right. You are somewhat cute. You wanna come downstairs for breakfast? Cora reckoned you looked like you could use a bite to eat."**

 **As if in answer to the question, Harry stomach gurgled loudly. The girl laughed again and said, "I guess that means yes. I'm Bette, by the way. Bette Simon."**

 **Harry opened his mouth to introduce himself, then stopped, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had not recast** _ **inmemores**_ __ **since last night. It only had a two-hour spell life…which meant he was standing here in his regular face. Before he could even make up his mind about what to do, his wand seemed to rise of its own accord, and he heard himself saying "** _ **Stupefy."**_

 **Bette collapsed to the floor like a marionette with cut strings, and Harry dragged her into the room and shut the door behind him. His heart was trying to leap out of his chest as he ran into the bathroom to look in the mirror. He fully expected to see himself, green eyed and scarred, but a stranger was staring back at him. Harry poked gently at his face, and cast a** _ **finite**_ **just to be sure; it was not some effect of last night's spellwork. Nothing happened. The stranger's face continued to blink at him from the glass.**

 **It was very similar to his own face in some ways. The hair was the same colour and length, but it had lost all of its wildness. His cheekbones were more defined, and his jaw seemed more delicately shaped. His eyes were not green at all, but an icy blue that was just as noticeable. His skin was a different tone, less golden and paler. His nose was longer as well. Harry lifted his bangs and gasped. There was** _ **no scar.**_ **Dumbledore had said nothing would ever remove it. How was this possible?**

 **Harry felt like crying. There was an unconscious prostitute in his room, and he looked like a completely different person than he had when he woke up yesterday morning. What had happened? Where was his face? His mother's eyes, his father's hair, the lightning bolt scar…these had always been essential parts of Harry Potter. He wanted them back! And just as he thought it, Harry felt what could only be described as an internal snap, and suddenly he was looking at his usual face.**

 _ **The heritage,**_ **he realized suddenly. He had gone to bed last night feeling comfortable as Hephaestus Peverell, so he had woken up this morning looking like him. This was so much more than he had expected from the goblins' explanations last night. It took him a full minute to calm down enough to regain the sense of comfortable anonymity and freedom he had felt last night, but when he managed it, the stranger's face was back in the mirror. Not a stranger, thought Harry. This was Hephaestus. The Peverell heritage had given this face to one of its own. He smiled. It was a perfect disguise.**

 **With the problem of being recognized solved, Harry was not sure what to do. Poor Bette was lying stunned in the floor, and she was surely already a little late for breakfast. Grimacing, Harry realized that he could not in good conscience Obliviate her, because he did not know how to do it well enough. She might end up a gibbering idiot for the rest of her life.**

 **Realizing that he was running out of time, he acted on the first idea that popped into his head. He hated it, but Bette was stunned. It wasn't as if she would feel anything, and this could be a life or death situation for him. He grabbed his History of Magic textbook out of his trunk, and closing his eyes, he smacked it rather hard against Bette's creamy forehead. Looking critically at the large pink mark this made, Harry added a very slight stinging hex for good measure. An angry red lump appeared, and Harry decided that it would have to do. He could not stand to hit the girl again.**

 **After dragging her back out into the hall, Harry knelt down beside her and cast an** _ **ennervate**_ **before discretely slipping his wand back into his robes. The girl's eyes fluttered open. She looked understandably disoriented.**

 **"Oh, I'm so sorry!" said Harry in a panicky voice that was not entirely feigned. "I can't believe I did that! I am such a klutz! Please say you're alright."**

 **Bette propped herself up on her elbow, and then reached up to touch her forehead. She winced. "What happened?" she asked.**

 **"I'm sorry," Harry moaned. "You came to invite me to breakfast, and I bashed you in the head with the door accidentally. Are you okay?"**

 **"I remember I think…Am I bleeding?" she asked. "It really hurts."**

 **Harry had never felt like such a jerk in his life. "No, there's no blood," he told her. "Do you think you can stand up?"**

 **He helped her to her feet and into the bathroom so that she could look at herself in the mirror. Bette winced when she saw the large goose egg developing on her forehead. "It's going to bruise something awful, but maybe Maia can fix it. She's good with things like that."**

 **She sounded annoyed, and Harry couldn't blame her. "Is there any way that I can make it up to you?" he asked.**

 **"Yeah," said Bette. "Come down to breakfast with me and tell Cora why I'm late. She usually won't give latecomers so much as a cuppa, even if we work here."**

 **"Okay," said Harry, enthusiastically. "Just let me get my shoes on, and we'll go down."**

 **Bette laughed. "It's not exactly a formal establishment. No one's going to care if you've got shoes on."**

 **As they started down the stairs, Bette asked, "Hey, did you ever tell me your name or did I just forget it when you conked me one?"**

 **"I don't think I ever mentioned it," said Harry. "I'm Hephaestus. It's nice to meet you."**

 **"Well, I can't say meeting you has been much fun so far, Hephaestus, but I'm sure you're a lovely person all the same."**

 **"I really am sorry," said Harry.**

 **"Just convince Cora to give us breakfast, and I'll consider forgiving you."**

 **Cora, it transpired, was the owner of the Doxy Closet, and she was not nearly as difficult to persuade as Bette had implied. She took one look at the girl's head, which was already turning purple, and immediately ran to fetch some bruise salve. She was ready to toss Harry out on his ear for "brutalizing one of my ladies!" until Bette convinced her that it really had been an accident. Mollified, she dished them both up plates of eggs, bacon, and toast.**

 **"Well, Hephaestus, what brings you to Knockturn Alley?" she asked as she watched them eat. She thought that Bette might have a concussion, so she was not going to let her out of sight until Maia had looked at her. "You're a little young to be traveling alone aren't you?"**

 **Harry hesitated for a moment. He knew he could pass for younger than his true age even as Hephaestus. Apparently, the Peverell heritage couldn't make up for years of malnourishment at the Dursleys'. Claiming to be a different age than Harry Potter could only help him out in the long run.**

 **"I'm fourteen, ma'am," he said. "My parents died when I was a baby, and I had been living with relations until recently."**

 **"Why are you on your own now, then?" she asked curiously.**

 **"My relatives and I didn't get along," said Harry. "They decided that it was time for me to make my own way. I can't say I'm unhappy with the situation."**

 **The madam nodded. "Sounds like you're better off on your own, lad. Besides, fourteen is not too young. Old enough to get a job and the like around here. How long will you be staying with us?"**

 **"I was hoping to stay the rest of the summer if you don't mind," said Harry. "I've got enough pocket money saved up to pay for the room while I try to decide what to do with myself."**

 **Cora shrugged. "You can stay as long as you want if you can pay for it. No one comes down here checking for underage wizards, so it's no trouble on my end of things."**

 **After breakfast, Cora and Bette headed upstairs to bed, leaving the woman called Maia to watch the bar. They slept until the early afternoon, Bette had explained, then worked all night. "You might want to get the hang of doing it this way yourself," she added. "Most of the shops in the alley are only open through the night hours because the aurors know better than to bother us when the watch is out in force. There's nothing going on during the day."**

 **Maia was a middle-aged woman going grey at the temples. Harry did not think she was much to look at, especially compared to the nymph-like Bette, but she was eager to have his company to help keep her awake. "I hate it when it's my turn to work day shift," she complained. "I'm run off my feet from all the night work. Can't seem to keep from drowsing where I stand."**

 **Harry quickly realized that Maia was a willing source of information, so he spent the majority of the morning at the bar, drinking tea and pelting her with questions. He learned that the last time the Ministry aurors had invaded Knockturn at night-time had been twenty years previously. "Still licking their wounds from that disaster they are…. Not smart to go up against Knockturners on our own turf. And it was a Wednesday, so the Dark wizards were all over the place," she laughed heartily. "Those aurors didn't know what hit 'em."**

 **Harry didn't understand why it being Wednesday would make a difference, and he said as much. "Oh, Wednesday and Friday, those are their nights for visiting the alley," Maia explained patiently. "The Dark ones that is. The rest of the time it's mostly just the regulars: dark users, criminals, ordinary folk who are down on their luck, and all the other people who like to live on the edge of proper society."**

 **His confusion must have shown on his face because Maia leaned down and spoke in a kindly voice. "Not the Knockturn sort, were they? Your relatives?"**

 **Harry nodded in agreement. "Well," said Maia, "don't let the Dark wizards catch you glomming them together with the rest of the Knockturn crowd. They'd be dead offended about it. Just because somebody uses dark magic doesn't mean they're up to snuff on all the traditions and history of it."**

 **"What do you mean?"**

 **Maia seemed to find his ignorance endearing rather than annoying, so Harry got more information than he could handle all at one time. Knockturn Alley wasn't devoted primarily to the Dark side of magic, just to the illegal side of it. But the Dark tended to be a part of that, and since many of the Dark families were "well-off on the galleon end of things" the Knockturners made sure to set aside their best wares for the two nights a week that most Dark wizards chose to visit. "Not that they come here," said Maia. "Whoring goes against their beliefs, so they stay at the Magna instead."**

 **Harry didn't see any reason to point out that prostitution wasn't something he thought very highly of either. Maia and the other ladies seemed sweet enough. "So it's their family and their history that makes them Dark?" he asked. "What about people who use dark magic but don't have anything to do with the traditions?"**

 **"Oh, there's a lot like that. Most of us in Knockturn as a matter of fact. The Dark wizards don't have much respect for that kind, but they've got a sort of don't-ask-don't-tell policy with everyone down here. After all, there is only maybe two or three hundred true Dark wizards left in all of Britain, and the Ministry's been out for their blood for millennia. They can't be choosy when it comes to acquaintances."**

 **At lunchtime, Harry wandered down Daemon Lane to a pub that, according to Maia, served "the best steak and stilton pie this side of the afterlife." The dingy little pub was uninspiringly named The Pub, and it looked like it had not seen life in about a hundred years. There were only three shady-looking customers inside apart from Harry himself. It went up a long ways in his estimation when the crusty barkeep delivered a chunk of steaming pie to him. It was the best thing Harry had ever put in his mouth.**

 **He was just reaching for the last crumb of his crust when a small brown owl landed next to his plate and snatched it up. "Hey!" he said with a laugh. "Get your own lunch."**

 **The owl hooted cheekily and held out its leg. A card-sized square of brown parchment was attached. Harry took the letter, wondering whom in the world was writing to him, and unrolled it.**

 **Mr. Potter,**

 **I work for the Owl Office. We have never met before, but I have on occasion dealt with your owl, Hedwig. (Such a charming creature.) There has been a severe problem with her latest delivery. Please stop by my office post-haste, so that we can discuss the matter of illegal owl post tampering.**

 **Respectfully,**

 **Ivan Eeylop**

 **Owl Office** – **Department of VIO's**

 **PS** – **Your lovely owls says to tell you that it is about the rude people at the peculiar house with the screaming woman stuck in the wall.**

 **PPS** – **The owl that is delivering this letter is named Aphrodite. Isn't she a dear? She will show you how to get to the office if you have never been here before. It is such a shame that Hogwarts no longer brings first years here for field trips. Remember to compliment her on her appearance.**


End file.
